


Like Clockwork

by Ptolemia



Category: Ghostbusters (2016), Ghostbusters - All Media Types
Genre: Established Relationship, F/F, Fluff, Post-Movie(s), a lot of fluff, its... theres just, oh god so much fluff, this is like the lint-covered jersey of the fanfic world
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-14
Updated: 2016-09-14
Packaged: 2018-08-14 22:40:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,819
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8031724
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ptolemia/pseuds/Ptolemia
Summary: Holtzmann is probably better known for her tendency to cause massive nuclear explosions that for her ability to express her emotions, but now and again a girl's gotta get a few things off her chest. Admittedly, the things in question are almost always bits of rubble from explosions she's caused, but still...





	Like Clockwork

**Author's Note:**

> From a tumblr prompt, "I really just want something with Holtz sad/crying and Erin taking care of and comforting her. Maybe she has a moment of feeling like she'll never belong or something and tries to keep it to herself but Erin catches her getting emotional when she think she's alone and helps her realize how amazing she is like ahhhh I need it"
> 
> I hope this is close enough to what you were after, anon! ^_^

Erin is all for summer, in principal, but in practise the heat in the city invariably reaches a point – usually sometime in July – where it just gets too much. This past week the heatwave has been so bad that even Holtzmann has begrudgingly relinquished her heavier overcoats, though she's still been wearing enough layers that Erin feels overheated just _looking_ at her half the time. Mind you, that's something Erin feels around Holtz quite a lot, no matter the weather, so perhaps she can't entirely blame the heatwave there.

 

Up here, though, in the privacy of their room, Holtz had made short work of stripping down to her boxers and tugging one of her robes on – this one's a sort of dusky red-brown silk, and so worn at the sleeves that Erin's pretty certain that it's passed the 'vintage' mark a while back and tipped straight over into 'junkstore'. It's also far too big, and for the past fifteen minutes Erin's given up even pretending to read her book in favour of just slouching on the bed watching the fan do _very_ interesting things to the neckline every time it swings back toward Holtzmann. Well, in fairness, it really is very warm; there's nothing better to do. Holtz, for her part, doesn't seem to have noticed that Erin's staring – she's crouched up on the office chair in front of her desk, fiddling with something very small and delicate with a lot of tiny glittering gears. Her glasses have been discarded on the table, and her hair is finally succumbing to the humidity after a long hard day of defying both gravity and common sense. It's not _down_ , exactly, but it's managed to tangle its way free of quite a lot of the pins and product, albeit in a slightly haphazard fashion. Outside, the city is about as quiet as it ever gets, and as dark as it's likely to be tonight, and the sky's clear enough to see a scattered haze of summer stars through the narrow window of their room. Inside, Holtzmann hums softly to herself, haloed in the light of the desklamp and clearly utterly absorbed in her work.

 

Not for the first time this year, Erin reflects that she's very, very lucky. For lots of things, but right now mostly for this – the sight of Holtz being quiet and content and totally engaged in whatever it is she's making. And alright, the practical side of her is just happy that Holtz does _sometimes_ have the capacity to create things without destroying large chunks of the workroom in the process, but also... well. It's nice to see her so content. She's almost got her nose in the little device she's working on now, angling it up to the light with a little frown, carefully clutching a pair of needlenose pliers and ever so gently tapping at the metal. After a moment there's a soft click and she grins, wiggling her toes happily – whatever she was setting in place seems to have worked as planned. Erin shuffles slightly to get a better look, but whatever Holtz is making it's too delicate for her to get a clear view at this distance. Probably clockwork, then. Holtz _loves_ clockwork, for reasons Erin's never quite grasped – it doesn't burn, or go boom, or even do anything that useful, but Holtz seems utterly fascinated by it nonetheless. She has a little shelf in their room; tiny glass bottles full of different gears, some clocks (all old, mostly broken), and a clutch of delicate little mechanisms she's made herself. Some of them don't seem to do much at all, and the largest (which emanates considerable radiant heat and, in dim lights, a faint green glow) is just a little concerning, frankly – but some of the others are really quite lovely. Erin's favourite is a tin beetle which can't be bigger than a quarter, with little jewelled eyes and delicate wire antenna that it waves softly when wound up. Holtz is forever tinkering with it – she's got it to walk, and lately she's been muttering about doing something with the wingcases, though whether it's anything like the right shape to fly is a little unclear.

 

Holtz kicks her legs up onto the desk, settling herself back into her chair with a little huff. She hesitates, then goes back to tapping away with the little pliers. She's wearing one sock, for some reason – it's bright pink, with acid green stripes. Erin smiles, tracing her eyes along the line of a single curl from the top of Holtz's head down to the corner of her jaw. Erin is a scientist, not a poet, and she's pretty lucky there because the poems she wrote in high school were all genuinely god-awful, but she kinda thinks that maybe if she'd known Holtz back then they wouldn't have been so bad. Well. No, maybe they would. Romance doesn't improve poets, in Erin's experience - it just encourages bad ones. But Holtz is great, anyway. Really great. Erin could sit here, if not literally forever, then at least for a very long time, and just... look. Not, like, in a _creepy_ way (it's not creepy if they're dating, right? She makes a mental note to ask Abby about that later), just in a... just in an admiring way. There she is, Jillian Holtzmann, local genius and occasional causer of enormous explosions (both literal and metaphorical in nature), quietly working on some little project of hers with her hair half-down and her nose wrinkled adorably and-

 

“Take a picture,” says Holtz, interrupting Erin's reverie, “It'll last longer.”

“Oh,” she mutters, suddenly aware of quite how long she's been staring for, “Uh, sorry, I was just-”

Holtz smirks, “Watching, huh?” She puts the mechanism down on her desk with a decisive _click_.

“I mean... um...”

“Yeah, I saw you. Peripheral vision's a bitch, ain't it?” For half a second she looks small, somehow, and hesitant – like she's about to say something else. But then she laughs, slings her robe aside onto the floor, and clicks the light off, sloping over to the bed and planting a very sloppy kiss on Erin's cheek before throwing herself down onto the covers with a little huff of air.

 

Erin wipes her cheek with mock annoyance. “Do you have to do that?”

“Yup!”

“Every night?”

“Uh-huh. Yeah. Gotta remind you of my undying affection and, more importantly, my impressive saliva production abilities.”

Erin sighs. “I know it's dark, and you can't see, but I'm rolling my eyes,” she says, turning over and pulling Holtz toward her. “Like, really hard. I'm rolling my eyes so hard right now.”

Holtz makes a disgruntled little squeaking noise as she's manhandled into being the little spoon. “It's too hot for this, Gilbert.”

Erin reluctantly shuffles back a little way, but Holtz grabs her arm before she can remove it from where it's currently wrapped around her waist.

“Didn't say I objected,” mutters Holtz, pulling her closer again.

“You implied it.”

“I implied it,” agrees Holtz, “But I imply a lot of stuff.” She shuffles a little, letting out a soft huff of air before gently prying Erin's hand off her hip and lifting it up to kiss the fingertips, just gently. “So, uh,” she says, mouth still pressed softly against Erin's hand.

“Hmm?”

“You... you got nice hands.”

 

“Mmm,” says Erin, as Holtz makes another vague snuffling noise and starts to chew thoughtfully on one of Erin's fingers, “You want to talk about something.” It's not a question.

Holtz makes a non-committal noise.

“Holtzmann?” she says, tugging her hand gently away from Holtzmann's mouth.

“Gilbertttttt,” drawls Holtz. “Heya.”

Erin sighs, and kisses the back of her neck. “You don't have to-”

“Wanna.”

“Okay.”

 

Holtz says nothing for a long while, although she does wriggle about extensively, and elbows Erin in the stomach three times before she eventually says, in a very strained tone of voice, “Really like you.”

“I like you too,” says Erin. “Uh, specifically as in I... _like_ like you. Y'know.” and if it sounds childish it's fitting because around Holtzmann she thinks she's always going to feel vaguely like she's fifteen again, doodling the name of her first real crush (for the record: Joe Larsson, two desks forward, good hair) over her workbook instead of taking notes during history lessons. “I mean, a lot. So. There's that.” Her fifteen year old self had always been under the impression that one day she'd get better at this whole romance thing, but clearly not. She presses her face into Holtzmann's neck, grinning slightly despite herself.

“I can _feel_ you smiling,” says Holtz, with a soft sort of wonder she normally reserves for unstable and borderline explosive bits of machinery. “It tickles.”

“Sorry.”

“No! No, it's fine, tickling is good. In moderation. Speaking of – do you get a tickle on on the inside of your left calf when you touch that new gun I made you?”

Erin frowns. “I... I don't know – maybe? I think I do a _little_ bit, but it's not very – I sort of assumed it was just my sock that was a little scratchy or something.”

“Right. Hmm. So, uh, about that...”

“What?”

“Maybe don't use it more than once a week, that's all. Oh, and if at any point the tickle starts spreading up your leg, drop it and _run_.”

“I'm not going to ask.”

“Yeah, that's probably for the best.”

 

Erin makes a mental note to never go within six feet of that gun ever again because Holtz, wonderful as she may be in other aspects, is _genuinely terrifying_ when it comes to anything involving safety. It's an endearing trait, almost, only one day they might all actually die on account of it, which is concerning.

“So, uh,” says Holtz, who's fidgeting again, a slightly serious edge creeping into her voice despite her flippant tone, “You were lookin', huh?”

Erin blushes at that, enough that she thinks Holtz must be able to feel her face hot against her back, “Oh, jeez,” she mumbles, “I wasn't- I mean, I _was_ , but not- was that weird? Oh god, it was weird, right? I was there, I was thinking, Erin, maybe it's weird to just stare at somebody- well, not just _any_ somebody, I guess, since you're-”

“Erin.”

“-my girlfriend which kinda makes it less-”

“ _Erin_.”

“-like, weird as a whole, you know, since-”

“Hey, earth to Gilbert? Hello?”

“Oh! Hi. Yes. Sorry. Got a bit carried away.”

Holtz snorts. “You're cute. Listen, it's cool, I'm pretty sure its not weird if we're dating and...” She sighs. “I dunno. Girlfriends look at each other sometimes, right? Maybe even a lot. And weird is- I don't even know, any more, I went off the deep end aaaaages ago. Whatever you come out with is never gonna have a patch on me, so.” She makes a loud clicking noise, which Erin takes as a general acceptance of the staring, or weirdness as a concept, or maybe just of Erin – either way, thank god. She was worried for a second there.

 

Holtz rolls round without warning, and in a brief flurry of motion she's face to face, eyes wide and serious, nose brushing up against Erin's.

“Oh,” says Erin, “Uh, hi.”

“I just wanted to know why,” says Holtz, in that particular tone she has (and Erin has only heard it a handful of times, so far, but it's made an impression) on the rare occasions she's actually being sincere about something. It's too fast, and then too slow - jerky, somehow, like a music box winding down. She looks uncomfortable about it, but earnest, really earnest; brow creased and nose wrinkled slightly, eyes gazing fiercely a fraction too far right to really count as holding Erin's gaze. “I wanted to. Know why you were looking because. A lot of the time people look at me because I dress strange or I'm acting strange or I'm- look, you're supposed to say things like that in threes but I only had two but. The point. Is. I'm used to that, right, but you weren't looking at me like that, you were looking sorta... soft, I guess. And I- that's a lot. Right? Not just me thinkin' that?”

Erin fumbles for Holtz's hand, and squeezes it gently. “Oh, you mean- like, intimacy?”

“Nah, that's just tits and ass, Gilbert. I can cope with that.” She winks.

“I didn't mean... never mind. So, uh, you're saying more- well, commitment, I guess?”

“Nah, that's just making sure it's the same tits and ass you're getting your hands on. Also pretty easy. 'Specially when they're yours.”

Erin sighs. “Thanks. Holtz-”

“Yeah?”

“You're deflecting again.”

Holtz shrugs. “Guess I am, yeah.” She wrinkles her nose when Erin tries to make eye contact, and instead buries her head in Erin's neck, arms wrapped tightly round her waist. “I just. Really like you. And I-” She cuts herself off abruptly, before her voice cracks. She's shaking, just slightly, and Erin feels it like a pain in her chest, how vulnerable Holtz can be, sometimes, however smart and clever and confident she usually seems.

 

“Hey,” says Erin, stroking the back of Holtzmann's neck slightly awkwardly, “It's ok, I like you too.”

“Exactly!”

“But that's- that's a good thing, right?”

Holtz sniffles loudly. “Yeah.”

“Are you... are you crying?”

Another sniffle. “Maybe.”

“Did I say something wrong? Is that it? Oh, I am just the worst girlfr-”

“No! No, you're great. Just...” Holtz shakes her head. “Jeez, you know you could date somebody... not weird, right, Gilbert?”

“Holtz-”

“I just like you a lot and- and that's ok, I can deal with that but. Also. Y'know. _You_ like _me_ a lot and that's kinda new and I keep thinking you're gonna stop liking me and think I'm weird and- and I mean I don't mind weird but maybe you do and you'll think I'm crazy and leave then I'll be sad and, and you look at me so- like you have this expression that- you- I want to. Be worthy of that expression. Only it's important and confusing and- and I want to be worthy of it but Idontknowhow,” she says, blurting the words out so fast that the last few run together into a jumbled mess.

 

“You- oh, sweetie...” Erin buries her face in the crook of Holtz's neck and takes a deep steadying breath. Holtz smells of oil, and soot, and the deodorant she stole off Abby, and home. “Like this,” says Erin, softly, holding on as tight as she can, “Like _this_ , dumbo.”

“Huh?”

Erin tilts her head back so that she's nose-to-nose with Holtz again. “You don't have to- to do something special or act different or not be weird for me to- Holtz. Come on! I spent my whole _life_ being weird! I was frigging- I was ghost girl, remember?”

Holtz fidgets, almost making eye-contact for a second and then glancing away. Her eyelashes are still damp, and something in her expression suggests she's trying to repress a vague spark of hope.“So you don't... it doesn't bother you? The way I- I know sometimes I act. Not normally.”

“No!” says Erin, sharply, and then, after a moment's consideration; “Well, I guess I have to admit that some of the things with the untested nuclear devices in the bathroom or that explosion you set off in the hall were... not so great but- but _you_ , I like you a lot. And- and I don't like you despite you being weird, I like you _because_ you're weird. And so am I. And that's awesome.”

“Huh,” says Holtz, tilting her head slightly, “Huh. Yeah. That is... pretty awesome.” The corner of her mouth quirks up. “You mean it?”

 

“Of course I mean it!”

And at that, the clouds which had been passing over Holtzmann's brow seem to be gone in an instant – her whole face lights up as she grins, tugging Erin toward her for a kiss. “Yeah? You wanna get over here and prove it?”

“Oh- I- it's way too hot for this,” grumbles Erin, straddling Holtz in what she hopes comes over as a vaguely begrudging fashion.

Holtz wiggles her eyebrows in a slightly bizarre manner that really _should_ be unattractive. “C'mon, let's roll around in our horrible sweaty bedding to celebrate a rare instance of actual sensible adult communication!”

Erin touches Holtzmann's cheek with a soft little smile. “We should do this more often.”

“Which bit?” says Holtz, tugging impatiently at the buttons of Erin's nightshirt. “The getting undressed bit or the getting uncomfortably sweaty bit, or-”

“The _talking_ , Holtz, oh my god.” Erin shakes her head fondly. “You really are a weirdo, you know that, right?”

And Holtz catches her eye for half a second, and beams like she's just been told the best thing in the whole goddamn world, and says, “Yeah. I know.”

 


End file.
